


Teacher's Pet

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: When Fiona agreed to Principal Tyler's request to tutor a troubled student, she never imagined that the job would turn into anything more than another gold star to add to her college applications. But from the first meeting with her new 'student', Fiona will discover that he is anything but gold star material, and whether that is good or bad is yet to be decided. High School AU
Relationships: Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Female Character(s)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! And welcome to yet another Good Omens-inspired story! This one is a high school AU (what could *possibly* go wrong here? ;) ). So, without further ado, I give you the first chapter! Hopefully you enjoy what you find!

"Hey, Fiona, wait up!" A familiar voice called out, stalling the dark-haired young woman as she shut her locker door, and had been preparing to turn to head off in the direction of her next class. In truth, she was half-tempted to pretend she had not heard the call, her jaw clenching as she contemplated the potential consequences of not pausing, and simply continuing along on her way, instead. But, regardless of that temptation, Fiona forced herself to turn back towards the person who had hailed her, her lips turning up in what she hoped was a genuine smile as she did so.

"Hey, Uriel."

"You coming to the party later on? Michael says it's going to be a blow out."

"I don't know," Fiona shrugged, knowing, somehow, that her answer would likely end up turning into a yes once her boyfriend found out about her indecision, and yet somehow still holding onto the hope that perhaps she would be able to withstand his own attempts at persuasion, as well, "I was kind of hoping to get a head start on Kaminsky's essay tonight."

"Please, you and I both know that you're going to knock it out of the park, even if you don't start it 'til the night before it's due," Uriel scoffed, blindingly white teeth flashing in a smile that was more of a grimace than she seemed to realize, while she simultaneously wound an arm through Fiona's own as they moved on down the hall, side by side, "Come, Fi. It won't be the same if you're not there."

"I'm sure it will be a perfectly adequate party, whether I turn up or not."

"Try telling Gabe that."

"Try telling Gabe what?"

Sighing as the voice reached her ears at the exact same time that an arm had snaked itself around her waist, effectively tugging her away from Uriel, and into a solid side, instead, Fiona risked a glance up at the person they had just been discussing, one brow quirked as she tugged her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, before she replied.

"That I'm not sure if I'm going to Michael's party."

"Well of course you're going. If I'm going, you're going."

"Maybe you'll change your mind," Fiona suggested, attempting to gain some distance between herself, and her boyfriend in order to make it easier to continue moving through the halls, only to find the gesture thwarted as his arm tightened its hold upon her waist, "Didn't you say you had a test on Monday?"

"A test I can study for Sunday night."

"And here I thought varsity football players had to have a C on every test to play in Friday night games."

"Is that your way of telling me you don't think I can manage a C?" Gabriel inquired, his tone brittle, in spite of the grin he kept plastered upon his face as though his life depended on it, "Because you aren't the only one that can be good at this whole 'studying' thing, Fiona."

"I—I know. I wasn't saying that you weren't good at it."

"It sounded a hell of a lot like you were."

"Well, I wasn't," Fiona insisted, flinching and only just managing to squash down a whimper as Gabriel used the hold he had upon her waist to allow his fingers to squeeze harshly at her hip, "I wasn't, Gabe, I swear."

"Good. You know I don't like it when you act like you're smarter than me just because you got yourself into all of those advanced courses."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It had better not be."

"So, I'll see you both tonight, then?" Uriel interjected, her tone almost absurdly cheery as she gave Fiona a scathing look, before turning her attention towards Gabriel, instead.

She had always been more his friend, than Fiona's, anyway…

"You will," Gabriel confirmed, removing his arm from its place around Fiona's waist, and looping it around her shoulders, instead, so that the pad of his thumb might skim against the skin of her neck, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Great! Later, guys."

"Yeah. See you later," Fiona replied, forcing a smile to her lips once again, and watching as Uriel moved off through the throngs that were milling about as the last few moments before the tardy bell rang slithered away. In next to no time at all, they had reached her next class—Calculus—and, as always, just as they came to a stop outside the classroom door, Fiona found herself tugged around until her back thumped against the lockers on the wall beside the door, a startled exclamation escaping as she felt Gabriel's hand tangle in the long locks of her hair before his mouth descended almost hungrily upon her own.

Almost unwittingly, her hands came up to press against his chest, her cheeks flushing in response to the knowledge that anyone walking by would have a front row seat to the rather overdone display of affection. But of course she never could summon the strength to actually push him away, and in light of her already tenuous footing given her earlier remark about the test he had to take the following week, Fiona settled for simply allowing Gabriel to continue kissing her, until she felt the familiar rush of gratitude for her history teacher across the way as his gruff voice reached them from across the hall.

"Oi! Dumas! Save it for marriage, an' get on yer way to yer next class!"

In response to the stern directive, Gabriel finally pulled away with a groan, his all too predictable roll of the eyes at being told what to do nearly causing Fiona to huff in aggravation at his seeming persistence in acting as though he really ought to be running the world, and everyone in it, as well. She could feel his thumb brushing against her cheekbone while his other hand just barely managed to ghost beneath the hem of her shirt to connect with the skin of her side. And although Fiona wanted more than anything to pull away and duck into the classroom before anyone else could pass by and give them a look, she forced herself to hold her ground, blue eyes meeting Gabriel's as he stooped to place one last kiss against her upturned mouth.

"Later, baby."

"Yeah. Later," She repeated, watching as Gabriel turned on a heel and headed down the hall towards his own classroom for a moment, before she shifted her attention to the teacher standing across the hall, "Thanks, Mister S."

"Dinnae mention it, lass. Ye know I'm always keepin' an eye out for ye."

"And I appreciate it."

"O'course, sprite. Get ye on to class, now," The aged historian instructed, a rare half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he gestured for the young woman across the hall to get going, and basked in the warmth of her answering grin before she did precisely as she was told. Truth be told, he could not fathom exactly what it was about Gabriel Dumas that kept her with him, as the lad had always been a bit dense for his liking whenever he had the misfortune of having him in his class. But the lass had always had a mind of her own, and Shadwell could only hope that she would see that she deserved far better than the likes of an over-praised quarterback sooner, rather than later.

Dumas was only going to go so far, and Fiona—well it would take a complete buffoon not to realize that she was going places, as long as no one was around to hold her back.

…

Anthony J. Crowley lounged in one of the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic chairs just outside the Principal's office, one foot jigging idly on the threadbare carpeting beneath it, while the other leg stretched out towards the center of the room, threatening to trip anyone that got too close. Every so often, the secretary would eye him suspiciously from her position seated behind the desk, as though she honestly expected he would do something to cause a ruckus with so many witnesses at hand. And although he was half-tempted to do exactly that, if for no other reason than to watch her stone-like expression fracture, just once, from its implacable resolve, he resisted, a slow sigh escaping through his nose as he squirmed a bit in the chair, and turned his attention to the clock mounted upon the opposite wall.

Two fifteen—he should have been in the art room a quarter of an hour ago…

Groaning at the realization, Anthony tilted his head back until it bumped gently against the wall behind him, the soft thud once again bringing the shriveled secretary's eyes over to him, and provoking a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as a result. Apparently not sitting straight was tantamount to a capital offense, if the way in which her lips had thinned into a disapproving line were any indication. And half in an attempt at irking her further, Anthony slouched down even further in his seat, his eyes boring into her own from behind the cover of his trademark sunglasses until the sound of the Principal's office door squeaking on its hinges caused him to redirect his attention to the man as he stepped into the doorway and regarded the office's sole student occupant with a resigned sigh.

"Mister Crowley. Inside, if you please. And sunglasses off."

With his back already turned as he headed back into his office, the Principal never saw the grimace that passed across Crowley's features as he hauled himself from the chair, and sauntered into the office behind him, one hand lifting to remove the offending glasses so that he could stow them carefully in his jacket pocket. He was so familiar with the protocol when it came to being invited into what he had jokingly dubbed the 'inner sanctum' that he took a seat once again without even being asked, his feet splayed out in front of him while he waited for the Principal to begin his standard lecture on whatever misdeed he had heard about, this time around.

"Mister Crowley, are you aware that, of the seven required core courses you are currently enrolled in, you are barely passing four, and failing the other three, outright?"

"Might have heard of it—" Crowley shrugged, realizing at the last possible moment that without his glasses, a roll of the eyes would have become readily apparent, and restraining the urge with only seconds to spare as the Principal turned his gaze from his computer screen, to the student sitting before him, instead.

"You don't seem particularly concerned."

"S' probably because I'm not."

"Graduation isn't a goal of yours, then?"

"M' sure I'll fix up the classes I'm failing before then."

"That cavalier attitude may have worked for you in the past, Anthony, but it will not work so well, now," The Principal cautioned, aware of the flicker of something not all that far from defiance in the young man's amber colored eyes, and suppressing the subsequent harsh remark that came to mind in response to how it truly did seem that Crowley hardly cared about his future, one way or another, "Colleges are looking for well-balanced coarse loads, and stellar grades."

"Never said I was going to college, though, did I?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"I said I never said I was going to college, though, did I?" Anthony repeated, aware of the narrowing of the eyes that he received in response to the question, and yet choosing to ignore it in favor of lifting an arm to drape over the back of the neighboring chair before going on, "Those are your words, not mine."

"They are my words because they are the only way for anyone to have a future, Mister Crowley. Surely you must know that."

"Seems to me there's a perfectly decent future waiting for me at the automotive shop."

"But that can't be the sum of your ambitions!" The Principal protested, astonishment coloring his features as he regarded the student sat before him, and was forced to acknowledge the utter lack of remorse upon his face, "Surely someone in your life must have told you that you deserve far better than minimum wage!"

"Entire family's always earned minimum wage," Crowley countered, a casual shrug of the shoulder signaling his dismissal of the older man's concerns, though he could not seem to help the almost bitter twist of his lips before he spoke again, "We've done just fine so far."

"Well whether you have, or haven't, you are going to start seeing a tutor for the classes you are failing. You have no choice in the matter, Mister Crowley," The Principal ordered, aware of the slight widening of the golden eyes, before they were diverted down to a particularly stubborn thread that had come free from the fabric of almost too-tight dark black jeans, as though he sought to hide his reaction before it earned him any closer scrutiny, "We've already found one we think will be most beneficial to your success."

"More like I'll be the bane of his existence."

"Oh, it isn't a him."

"What?"

"I said it isn't a him," The Principal repeated, regarding Anthony with an expression that was rather calculating, in spite of the carefully schooled neutral tone he maintained as he spoke once more, "And I think you'll find the young woman we have selected is a bit of a tough taskmaster, even in spite of her outward appearance."

"Her outward appearance—the hell is that supposed to mean?" Crowley inquired, one brow quirked in obvious curiosity, even in the face of the suddenly stern scowl that came into being upon his companion's features in response to his apparent decision to forgo the long-standing rule against swearing. In spite of himself, Anthony had to admit that he was at least somewhat intrigued by the prospect of just who this supposed paragon may be, if the Principal thought she would stand a chance at making a star pupil out of someone like him. But of course, he was not about to admit that to the man seated across from him, his expression schooling itself back into its usual indifferent mask while he awaited the other man's reply.

"It means, Anthony, that you would be best suited in following her advice, and allowing her to help you. This offer will not be repeated again, should you frighten her away."

"Right. M' I free to go, then?"

"You are," The Principal allowed, his eyes narrowing at the young man who had just hauled himself out of the chair, long limbs allowing him to virtually tower over the desk, while one hand reached inside his jacket pocket to restore those infernal sunglasses to their former position on his nose while he turned on a heel and headed towards the closed office door, "And Mister Crowley?"

"Mm?"

"I meant what I said about this offer not being repeated. Your future is at stake, young man, whether you choose to realize it or not."

If only Principal Tyler had known that that future was already set in stone, and there was nothing this girl, whoever, she was, could do to alter a course that Crowley had been on, since birth.

The family worked at the shop. That was just all there was to it, and he highly doubted that a pretty face could change anything, no matter how much she may want to…

…


	2. The Proposal

“Hi, Fiona,” A soft-spoken voice greeted, effectively diverting her from the task of pulling her Calculus textbook from her book bag for long enough that she could give the speaker a small smile.

“Hi, Newt. What’s up?”

“Oh, uh—well—nothing, really. Just saying hello.”

“Newt, it’s an expression,” Fiona teased, finally managing to heave the heavy textbook out of her bag, and setting it on her desk with a soft thump, so that she could turn to face her companion directly, “How was your test, earlier? Spanish, right?”

“Fine, I suppose. Though I think I might have messed up the essay section.”

“I’m sure you did just fine.”

“I hope so,” Newt fretted, fiddling with the pencil he held between both hands, and flinching as the act caused the device to clatter to the floor not too long thereafter, forcing him to stoop to pick it up once again, “It’s the only class I’m struggling in, at the moment.”

“Oh? And what’s struggling for you, a B plus?”

“Well—”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Newt. I’ve told you that a hundred times at least,” Fiona reminded him, tempering the potential for implied criticism in her words with a gentle smile, and finding herself pleased to note that Newton had offered her a tremulous smile of his own, in return, “We all know you’re going to be valedictorian, anyway, even if you flunk out of the rest of the term.”

“I don’t really think I’d still be valedictorian if I flunked the rest of the term, Fiona.”

“Oh, come on you know what I mean!”

“Yeah, I—I suppose I do,” Newt admitted, his eyes straying to the blackboard as he began scribbling down the work problems their teacher had assigned for the start of class, “Do you think we’ll have a quiz today?”

“God, I hope not.”

“But you must have studied. You—you always study.”

“Oh, trust me, I did,” Fiona assured, fishing around in her bag for a notebook, so that she could follow her friend’s lead, and copy the problems down for herself, “I just never think I did enough.”

“Well I am sure you did.”

“Thank you, Newt.”

“You’re welcome.”

Smiling and shaking her head as she recognized the fact that Newt had already begun to start working at the problems even though the bell to signify the start of class had only just echoed through the room, Fiona settled her attention to the task of beginning her own work, only to find herself distracted once again, this time by the sound of the teacher calling her name from the doorway.

“Miss Fell?”

“Yes?”

“Principal Tyler would like to see you in his office. Rather quickly, if you please.”

“Is—is something wrong?” The young woman inquired, anxiety seizing at her heart for a moment as she almost automatically began to wonder if something had happened at home. Sharing a sidelong glance with Newt, Fiona forced herself to begin to pack her things back inside her bag, though she could not ignore the way her hands had started to tremble in direct evidence of her nerves. But before her apprehension could take over completely, she found her fears to be rather unwarranted, the slight shake of the head that her teacher gave causing her to release a breath she had not even been aware she was holding, while moving to stand, and heading towards the door of the classroom at the same time.

“Nothing is wrong, Miss Fell. I believe he simply wished to discuss something with you about a special request.”

Managing a nod before moving past the teacher, and heading down the hall, Fiona found herself wondering exactly what it was that the Principal might request of her that would warrant pulling her out of class. She had never known him to be one to do so before, at least not unless the situation were quite urgent, indeed. But regardless of the question that lingered in her mind, she did her best to simply move towards the main office, her fingers worrying over the strap of her bag as she moved through the now-deserted halls, and tried to ignore the weight of the eyes that strayed towards her movements, rather than paying attention to their own class, instead.

Whatever Principal Tyler wanted, she supposed she would have to be patient enough to wait for him to tell her, himself.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Ah, Miss Fell. Come in, come in,” Principal Tyler instructed, waving the young woman inside his office, and pulling back one of the chairs before his desk so that she could take a seat before closing the door behind them, “I trust you are well today?”

“I am,” Fiona confirmed, placing her bag upon the ground at her feet, and managing a faint smile for the older man as he took a seat behind his desk, her lingering apprehension rendering her incapable of doing anything save for perching on the edge of her own chair, while her hands smoothed idly over the fabric of her jeans, “And you?”

“Perfectly well, my dear. I’m doing perfectly well. I assume your teacher told you why I called you here, rather than allowing you to finish out your time in class?”

“Actually, no. He didn’t.”

“Ah, well, perhaps my instructions were unclear,” The older man mused, pausing for just long enough to take a sip of the lukewarm coffee that rested nearby on his desk, and regarding the young woman seated before him for just long enough to register her apparent unease, “There truly is no need to worry, Miss Fell. You are hardly here for any sort of disciplinary trouble.”

“I—I suppose that’s good to hear.”

“Indeed. No, what I called you here for was more academic.”

“Sir?”

“There is a student in need of certain—improvements—in his own scholarly efforts. Should he fail to make progress, I fear he will likely be forced to repeat the year. An embarrassing prospect, even if he was not a senior, like yourself.”

“I’m sure,” Fiona agreed, her brow furrowing just a bit as she tried and failed to predict where, exactly, this conversation was going to lead, only to find her efforts stalled by the realization that Principal Tyler had started to speak once again.

“My—associates, and I were rather interested in seeing if you would be willing to help, in this case. You are, of course, welcome to say no.”

“Me? Why—why me?”

“Because, Miss Fell, you are one of the topmost students in your class,” The Principal explained, aware of the young woman’s obviously startled expression, and holding out a hand to waylay her impending protest in favor of going on, “And you have an extraordinary gift for leadership, as well.”

“And that—that would make me a good tutor?” Fiona questioned, unable to completely remove the obvious doubt from her tone, even in spite of the fact that it was well-known that no one made a habit of questioning Principal Tyler’s intentions if they knew what was good for them.

Or at least, they didn’t if they had a tremulous track record already—something that Fiona was abundantly grateful she did not have to worry about, as her inquiry only had the Principal eyeing her with a gentle sort of amusement, rather than open disdain.

“Indeed it would. Perhaps seeing a fellow student with so much to offer might inspire this young man to start applying himself accordingly.”

“And if—if I don’t? If I can’t do it? What happens then?”

“Absolutely nothing, as far as you are concerned,” Tyler replied, spreading his hands to give extra weight to his words, before leaning back in the chair behind his desk, and threading his fingers together on top of his stomach, “But I fear the young man in question might risk missing his own graduation.”

Frowning at the implication behind those words, Fiona shifted just a bit in her own seat, her palms once again taking up the act of rubbing against the fabric of her jeans as she tried to consider her options. She did not want to let the Principal down, of course, particularly as he had been so instrumental in helping her with college applications and letters of recommendation the year before. But in spite of that, she was also more than a little nervous about the prospect of being solely responsible for another student’s academic future, her teeth coming out to worry at her lower lip for a moment before she swallowed and attempted to rid her voice of the wavering she knew would be present if she did not make a conscious effort to avoid it.

“When do I—when do I start?”

“How does next week Monday sound? After school.”

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“Very good. Very good,” Principal Tyler enthused, sending Fiona a smile, before turning towards his computer, and firing the ancient old device up in order to seek out the form he had been prepared to print as soon as he obtained the young woman’s consent, “Now all we need is for you to have your guardian sign the consent form, and you can begin.”

“Consent form?”

“Since you have yet to turn eighteen, Miss Fell, the law requires a parent or guardian to sign a form indicating their permission to allow you to remain after school with another student for the improvement of their academic performance. And since—”

“Since neither of my parents are around, you require a guardian’s signature, instead.”

“Precisely.”

Only able to nod in response to the confirmation, Fiona settled back just a bit in her chair, her eyes tracking Principal Tyler’s movements as he clicked the mouse over the computer screen a few times, until the distinct sound of the printer firing up could be heard from the opposite side of the room. Within mere moments, the older man was rising from his chair with an almost belabored sigh, his steps carrying him towards the printer so that he could withdraw the freshly printed page from the top of the device, and turn back to carry it to its intended recipient. And, as soon as she held the paper with her own two hands, Fiona set about the task of tucking it carefully within the confines of her bag, her body shifting so that she was already prepared to stand just as soon as the Principal gave the word.

“Do try your best to return that to me by Monday morning, Miss Fell,” He began, moving to sit upon the edge of the front of his desk this time, and once again clasping his hands in front of his stomach before going on, “And have a lovely rest of your day.”

“Th—thank you, Principal Tyler.”

“Any time, my dear girl. Any time.”

Standing, and moving towards the office door once again, Fiona slipped the strap of her bag back over her right shoulder, trying to ignore her apprehension over what had just been proposed in favor of simply returning to class. In truth, some small part of her was still half-tempted to back out, particularly as she hardly thought the idea of being responsible for anyone else’s success, aside from her own, was daunting, to say the least. But a still larger part was almost curious over the prospect of being able to help someone, as she had been helped by the self-same guardian whose signature was now required on the form secured in her bag.

After all, there was something to be said for at least trying to get whoever this person was back on the right track, no matter whether she was truly capable of succeeding, or not.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Upon entering the bookshop later that afternoon, Fiona felt her lips tugging up into a smile in response to the soft tinkling of the bell above the door, the familiar sound comforting, to say the least, as she shut the door as carefully as she could behind her, and moved into the store, itself. Soft music reached her ears almost instantaneously, along with the sound of muted conversation that gave her pause. It would have been highly unusual for her guardian to be entertaining at this hour, having always preferred to sit quietly, reading one of his books while she got a head-start on her homework before they ventured home for dinner. And so, Fiona found herself rather more than a little curious to see exactly who it was that had joined them in the refuge of the tiny shop, her brow furrowing just a bit as she moved towards the back room, and nearly dropped her bag in surprise once she saw who was inside.

“Simon!”

“Hey, Fi,” Came the good-natured reply, arms extending so that she could run into their embrace as she had been doing ever since she could remember. Forgotten, her bag was cast into a nearby chair while Fiona occupied herself with squeezing her arms around her foster brother’s waist, her cheek squashed against the fabric of his shirt as he returned the strength of her hug with equal fervor. For a moment or two, they simply remained as they were, as though the time that had passed since they last saw one another was a matter of months, and not a mere seven days. But before too long, the soft sound of familiar laughter reached their ears, bringing them to separate from the embrace, and turn at the same time to face the source of that laughter with sheepish smiles upon their faces.

“You know, I doubt I shall ever tire of seeing that,” Aziraphale remarked, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he moved forward to greet Fiona with a welcoming arm slung about her shoulders, “Simon appears to have decided to surprise us, my dear.”

“I thought you weren’t due home ‘til the weekend!”

“Well, I got done with my exam early, and figured I’d spend an extra day with my two favorite people,” Simon replied, watching with fond affection as Aziraphale gave Fiona’s shoulders a small squeeze before relinquishing his hold upon her, and turning to start the process of brewing an additional cup of tea, “That is, if you’re not both busy with other things.”

“Definitely not, my dear boy. In fact, I was rather dreading the prospect of spending an evening ambling about the house on my own.”

“What, Fi’s got some big plan keeping her away?”

“There was some mention of a party later on—”

“I don’t have to go to that,” Fiona protested, somehow no longer caring about the potential ramifications from Gabriel if she abandoned him now, when the prospect of having an extra day with her brother and best friend was so much more alluring than a party, anyway, “I can—I can say I got sick, or something.”

“Beefsteak’s throwing a party?”

“Simon!”

“What? Just calling it like I see it!” The blue-eyed young man justified, dodging the swat that Fiona had aimed at his chest, and laughing as her blue eyes crinkled into a scowl in response, “I still don’t understand what you see in him.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Otherwise you’d be giving me some competition.”

“Touché.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Seriously, though. He’s throwing a party?” Simon pressed, his lips turning up in a smile as he registered Fiona’s almost immediate roll of the eyes, as she meandered around the small table to plop down upon the edge of the sofa with her head held delicately between her hands.

“No. It’s Michael’s party.”

“Oh. Her.”

“Exactly. Her,” Fiona repeated, tugging the fingers of one hand through her hair, and exhaling in a sigh as she contemplated the prospect of being forced to pretend that she absolutely worshipped Gabriel’s friends when in reality she could hardly stand most of them for extended periods of time, “I still can’t believe you ever liked her, Simon.”

“Well, I guess poor judgment runs in the family.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Did something—happen, today, my dear? With Gabriel, I mean,” Aziraphale began, his concern apparent as he watched his youngest charge carefully, as though anticipating his inquiry might make her react poorly by being too invasive for her tastes. In truth, it made little sense for him to be so cautious, as Fiona had rather quickly taken to the idea of being forthcoming with her troubles in the past. But before he could make either heads or tails of his sudden apprehension, Aziraphale found the act rendered moot, the slight frown that marred Fiona’s features only lasting for a moment before she was shaking her head and preparing to reply.

“No. No, nothing happened, per se.”

“The way in which you say that gives me reason to believe that something did happen.”

“It—it didn’t,” Fiona assured, glancing down at her knees, and sighing as she tried and failed to come up with a way to adequately describe her thoughts on the question at hand, “He just didn’t seem inclined to accept that I might not want to go to this party, that’s all.”

“Well I should hate to be the cause of a conflict between you, dear.”

“Technically I would be the one causing the conflict, Zee,” Simon corrected, winking at Fiona, and finding himself rather more than a little pleased that the act had her smiling even in spite of the lingering discord that remained in her expressive blue eyes, “And I, for one, am perfectly alright with that.”

“Perhaps you should not be.”

“No, Zee, it’s alright,” Fiona cut in, suddenly desiring nothing more than to shift the topic of conversation to something else, entirely, and so seizing upon the opportunity to bring up the new task set to her by Principal Tyler earlier that day with perhaps more enthusiasm than was truly warranted, “You’ll never guess what did happen today, though.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Principal Tyler told me he wants me to take up tutoring a student that is at risk of missing graduation.”

“Is that what troubles you, then?” Aziraphale questioned, frowning almost immediately as he realized Fiona was once again shaking her head, and resolving to wait until she saw fit to reply on her own.

“It doesn’t trouble me. Not really. I’m just—”

“Just what, my dear?”

“I’m unsure if I’m up to the task, especially when he made it sound as though if I failed, this student would fail as well.”

“Awful nice of the man,” Simon quipped, rolling his eyes, and flopping down beside Fiona on the sofa while simultaneously reaching an arm out to loop around her shoulders in order to drag her against his side, “He runs out of options for a student, and dumps the problem on someone else’s shoulders.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is, Si.”

“No? Because that’s kind of what it looks like, from here.”

“Perhaps he simply means it as a show of faith in your own abilities,” Aziraphale offered, aware of Simon’s skeptically raised brow, and recalling that the young man had held absolutely no good feelings towards the Principal during his own days as a student with something not all that far from amusement before going on, “He would be a foolish man to pretend you were not one of the best students the school had to offer.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a good teacher, though.”

“Have you been given any reason to date to believe you are not?”

“Well—no.”

“Then I fail to see why you fear your own failure, Fiona. After all, you did manage to teach me how to use the new computer.”

“That’s different, Zee,” Fiona laughed, a faint flush adorning her cheeks as she recognized the obvious admiration that was so apparent in her guardian’s expression, though she still managed to summon the wherewithal to meet his gaze head-on, “I know you. I don’t know a thing about the person I’m supposed to be teaching, this time.”

“Well perhaps the two of you could become friends,” Aziraphale suggested, aware of the shared glance riddled with skepticism that passed between Simon and Fiona, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, “That might not be so bad.”

“Something tells me he’s not exactly going to be inclined to associate with someone he views as more of a pain in the neck than anything else.”

“Personally, Fi, I’d go out of my way to be a pain in the arse. I mean—neck,” Simon advised, amending his statement at the last moment in the wake of Aziraphale’s cautionary expression, and turning to face his foster sister with a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Way I see it, he’s already messed up. Why not make him pay for it?”

“Because that’s not exactly the precedent I want to put out there for how I go about helping people?”

“Or maybe it would be the perfect way to get Tyler off your back, and make him do some of his own work for a change.”

“Regardless of whether this student benefits from Fiona’s help or not, Simon, I think we might be better off tabling the discussion for a later time,” Aziraphale interjected, the sound of the bell above the shop door effectively dragging him out of the backroom, and causing Fiona and Simon to exchange a curious glance, before a familiar voice reached them, and Fiona found herself groaning before she could fully stop herself from doing so.

“Oh—Aziraphale. Is Fiona here?”

It looked like she was not going to be as successful in begging off of the party as she thought, if Gabriel was already here to pick her up…  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………


	3. Buzz Kill

Bass thudded through the speakers in the rather obscenely large basement of Michael's home, the sound seeming to reverberate through every bone Fiona possessed as she leaned against the wall beside the pool table, and nursed the drink in her hand as slowly as she dared. Gabriel, fortunately, was rather preoccupied lining up his next shot to be paying her much attention at all, whether or not it had been his idea to come to this thing together in the first place. And so, she found herself capable of simply observing the goings on between the various party-goers with very little in the way of interruption, her lips pursing around the straw in her drink as she took another sip, and watched her boyfriend's victorious grin as he sank another ball, and made a gratuitous bow to the room at large.

"Like a pro, ladies and gentleman. Like a pro," He bragged, risking a glance towards Fiona where she remained leaning against the wall, and sending her what could only amount to an attempt at a flirtatious wink before going on, "You see that, babe?"

"Yep," Fiona confirmed, forcing a tentative smile to her lips, despite the fact that she truthfully didn't particularly care who won the pool game, and who lost, "Great shot."

"You want to play?"

"Oh no. No, I'm good."

"You sure?" Gabriel pressed, ignoring the protests of his opponent in favor of walking away from the table, and approaching Fiona so that he could loop an arm around her waist, and pull her in until her torso brushed against his chest, "I could really use some help, you know."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing you look like you're doing just fine on your own."

"Just trying to include you, babe."

"Don't worry about me. Worry about your friend, over there, getting impatient and taking your turn for you."

In response to her assertion, Gabriel turned back towards the pool table just in time to witness exactly what Fiona had said he would, a startled holler sounding above the blare of the music as he headed back towards the table, and shoved his opponent away before he could make a move. With a roll of the eyes, Fiona turned away from the spectacle, and headed towards the sofa at the far end of the basement, where several of the other girls were already gathered watching the flat screen that had been mounted upon the wall. And, although some small part of her knew that she may pay for that decision later, as Gabriel would never understand why she was not absolutely fascinated with the game he was so clearly absorbed in, she found herself utterly unwilling to turn back now, her hands shifting the drink between them for a moment as she approached, and watched as Uriel moved to the side just a bit so she would have enough room to sit, herself.

"I was wondering when you were going to come over here," She stated, patting the seat beside her, and grinning in such an over the top manner that Fiona almost cringed in response, "Got bored with the boys then, I take it?"

"More or less."

"About time. Need a refill?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Fiona replied, glancing down at the now half-empty red plastic cup held between both hands, and wrinkling her nose at the prospect of drinking any more, "What are we watching?"

"The Bachelor. That okay?"

"Works for me."

"Good. Wasn't going to change the channel, anyway," Uriel quipped, giving Fiona a conspiratorial nudge in the side, and ignoring her classmate's rather skeptical lift of one brow in favor of going on, "This episode is a good one."

"A rerun?"

"Doesn't mean it's not good."

"Fair point," Fiona admitted, settling back against the sofa cushions, and risking another sip of her drink while allowing her gaze to stray to the television screen in hopes of earning some distraction with the melodrama unfolding therein. It would have been a lie for her to pretend that she would not have been happier at home with Zee and Simon. That she wanted nothing more than to find some excuse to leave now, and simply return home. Simon had come to visit for the weekend, after all, and that was saying a lot when one considered exactly how hectic his schedule was, most days. But somehow, Fiona knew that if she did leave now, that would only mean that there would be more drama and unpleasantness to deal with throughout the rest of the weekend, where Gabriel was concerned…

And when she was faced with the prospect of ruining her entire weekend, or suffering through one less than enjoyable night, the choice was, after all, rather straightforward.

"Who's your favorite?" Uriel asked her then, effectively startling the young woman seated beside her back to the present moment, and reaching forward to take two of the proffered red cups from Michael as the hostess approached, and quirked a brow at Fiona until she realized the gesture was meant to persuade her to move over so that she would be trapped on the sofa between her, and Uriel, "Here. Take one. Michael makes a great rendition of Jungle Juice."

"Oh, no, I—I'm fine—"

"Take one. I won't have it said that I'm a crap hostess," Michael cut in, glancing towards the spare cup in Uriel's hand, before turning her attention back towards Fiona to go on, "Have some fun, Fell. It won't be the end of the world if you do."

"Oh—okay," Fiona managed, taking the cup from Uriel's hands, and forcing herself to ignore the flush of her cheeks as she realized that Michael seemed to be watching her every move while she brought the cup to her lips, "What?"

"Just waiting to make sure you drink."

"Why is it so important that I do?"

"Because, Fiona. We actually want to make sure you have fun," Uriel explained, her tone very clearly indicating she believed she was talking to someone of below-human intelligence, though her expression remained fixed in what she clearly believed would pass as a genuine smile, "This is a party, remember?"

"Last I checked, one didn't need to be an absolute drunk to have fun—"

"Yeah, but it makes things so much more interesting when you do."

Only just managing to suppress a roll of the eyes in response to Michael's addition to Uriel's claim, Fiona forced herself to take a sip of the drink in her hands, a grimace passing over her features as her tastebuds burned with the strength of the liquor therein. Almost immediately, she was met with the sounds of amused laughter, her cheeks warming no matter how hard she tried to will herself not to care. It was true that she had expected this. That her reluctance to over-drink along with everyone else at the party would likely bring her some unwanted attention as a result. But what she had not expected was the comment Uriel made next, in response to her obvious distaste for the beverage held in her hand, her blue eyes going wide as the implication behind the words hit far closer to home than she would have cared to admit.

"You know, you won't turn into your father with just one drink, Fiona. It takes more than that to make an alcoholic."

"All the same, Uriel, it's something I would rather avoid," Fiona retorted, leaning forward to place her cup on the floor at her feet, and standing from the couch before either of her companions could stop her, "I'm going to go get some air."

"Oh, come on, Fell, we were only joking—"

"I'll be right back."

Moving off quickly to avoid either Michael or Uriel attempting to stop her, Fiona hurried towards the stairs leading out of the basement and to the main level of the house, instead, her hand seizing the railing as she took the steps as quickly as she dared, given the unfortunate sting of tears that began to prick at the backs of her eyes. A part of her knew that running, such as she was, would only bring her further ridicule, whether done in her presence, or out of earshot. But something in the way Uriel had spoken of her father, even after knowing full well exactly how she felt about the topic had forced her hand, as though if she did not get out of that basement as quickly as she could, she would lose control over her emotions, altogether.

As she reached the top of the stairs, Fiona paused for only a moment before heading off in the direction of the den, her footsteps falling softly upon the thick carpeting while she attempted to distract herself by taking in the décor of the room while she moved. Though she had been here, many times before, in fact, it seemed that the wall-hangings and the position of the furniture was nearly always changing, as though Michael's parents were absolutely incapable of determining what piece should go where. And for a moment or two, she allowed herself to become utterly and completely lost in the act of taking in her surroundings, her attention so captivated through sheer force of will that she remained unaware of the presence of another person following after her until they had reached out to place a hand upon her arm.

"Hey—easy, babe, it's just me," Gabriel said, eyes widening just a bit as he watched Fiona whirl to face him, as though expecting some sort of an attack, "What are you doing up here?"

"You should probably ask Uriel and Michael, if you want a decent answer," Fiona quipped, aware of the potentially incendiary nature of her words, and yet entirely unable to resist allowing them out into the open, regardless, "God knows you trust them, more than me."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it says, Gabe. Your—friends—are hardly friends of mine."

"What makes you say that?"

"You really have to ask?"

"Considering that I am asking, I'd say the answer to that is a yes," Gabriel began, his hold upon Fiona's arm tightening just a bit, even in spite of the almost immediate manner in which her gaze shifted to glance at that hold, as though trying to determine whether or not she should pull away, "They adore you, Fiona."

"Right. So, it's clearly normal to make fun of someone you adore about a topic you know they'd rather pretend didn't exist."

"What are you talking about?"

"Like I said. Ask Uriel and Michael," Fiona repeated, holding very still as she sensed Gabriel's grip upon her arm loosening, in favor of his apparent decision to drop his hand down to twine his fingers through her own to pull her closer, instead, "They'll tell you all about it."

"What if I'd rather hear it from you?"

"You say that as though you'd actually believe what I told you."

"Why the hell wouldn't I, Fiona? You're my girlfriend."

"And we all know you prefer the testimony of your friends over my own almost all the time."

Almost as soon as she said the words, Fiona could anticipate the reaction they might provoke, her entire body bracing itself in the millisecond between her statement, and the sudden harsh grip Gabriel had taken upon both of her arms so that he could push her backwards until her body bumped against the wall. It was mad, of course—this rash desire she felt for someone to come upstairs at that very moment, and witness the true nature of a person they all seemed to worship in their own way. But of course, no one appeared to be forthcoming, the dull thumping of the bass and the hushed sounds of conversation serving as the only proof that they were sharing the home with anyone else, at all…

She was, for all intents and purposes, alone, whether she truly wanted to be, or not.

"You are lying," Gabriel hissed, squeezing Fiona's arms so hard she was all but certain that there would be bruises in the wake of where his hands had been the morning after, "Take it back."

"Gabriel—"

"Take. It. Back."

"You're hurting me," Fiona whined, silently cursing how her voice had cracked around the words, and squirming against Gabriel's hold upon her despite knowing it would do her little to no good at all, "Please, I—I'm sorry. I just—I was upset—"

"So, you thought you would share the misery with me, as well."

"That's—that's not what this was."

"Oh? Then what was it?" Gabriel asked, stooping just a bit so that his face grew closer to Fiona's, while his dark eyes bore into her own, "What caused you to take out your own anger on me when all I did was come to find you to see if you were alright?"

"Stupidity."

"Now, you're only saying what you think I want to hear."

"No. No, I—I'm not," Fiona pressed, forcing herself to continue meeting Gabriel's gaze, despite the fact that all she wanted to do was look away, "I'm just being stupid, Gabe, please—"

"Please, what?"

"Forgive me."

Though he did not reply right away, Fiona did her best to remain patient enough to hear him when he did, her teeth coming out to worry at her lower lip while she observed the expressions that flitted across his face one by one. Lingering anger—pride—even a slight hint of reluctance made themselves known, though the last was one Gabriel clearly did everything within his power to hide from view. But just as she had begun to wonder if she ought to speak up again, if for no other reason than to prompt Gabriel to decide whether or not she was even worthy of the concession she begged for, his expression was shifting once more, this time into something entirely unreadable as he regarded her for a moment more, before moving forward to bring his lips to crash against her own.

Unable to do anything except go along with this unexpected display, Fiona permitted her arms to shift away from Gabriel's formerly rough hold so that she could wind them around his neck, instead, her eyes drifting closed as she accepted the onslaught of his mouth with all the courage she could muster. It would have been a lie to pretend that this outcome was what she had wanted, knowing full well that Gabriel would take her lack of resistance as a sign that she might be willing to go farther than she truly wanted to as a result. But as what he was doing, now—pressing her back against the wall such that it was nearly impossible to tell where she ended, and he began—was clearly so much better than any of the more dire consequences she knew she could have faced instead…

No matter how uncomfortable she might have been with the apparent desire Gabriel had to continue as they were, Fiona knew she still preferred it to the alternative, having already experienced his anger for herself on numerous other occasions.

With such a thought in mind, she did as best she could to simply remain where she was, a low sound of surprise escaping as the slight shift in Gabriel's position crowding her back against the wall allowed him to slip his tongue inside her mouth before she could stop it. But just as she had also come to the realization that one of Gabriel's hands had slipped up from its position at her side, to paw at her breast, instead, the sound of another voice reached her ears, the relief she felt at this person's appearance never once paling, even when she gathered her wits about her enough to realize exactly who it was that had come upstairs in search of them.

"You know, if you wanted to use my parents' bedroom, that'd probably be better than shagging her right here, in the den…"

"Shut up, Michael," Gabriel ground out, pulling away from Fiona, albeit reluctantly, and shifting until he could glance at the would-be intruder more directly, "There is such a thing as letting things be, you know."

"Not when it comes to a mess I'll have to clean up later so my parents don't find out about it."

"Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about that if you actually told them you were having a party."

"You and I both know if I did that, there wouldn't be a party," Michael replied, a smirk toying at the edges of her mouth as she realized Fiona was now doing all in her power to avoid looking directly at her, and stepping forward a fraction of an inch as Gabriel moved to loop an arm about Fiona's waist to draw her close against his side, "Glad to see someone finally decided to loosen up a bit, though."

"Guess all it took was a little persuasion," Gabriel remarked, satisfaction apparent upon his features, even in spite of how he could feel Fiona tensing minutely in response to his reply, "Did you come up here for a reason, or—"

"Just wanted to let you know we were getting ready to start the movie."

"Right. We'll be down in a moment."

"You sure about that?"

"I'm sure," Gabriel confirmed, watching as Michael gave them a brief nod, before turning on a heel and heading back towards the stairs. As soon as she had disappeared from view, he turned back to Fiona, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek, while the other once again resumed its former rough grip upon her arm. And before she could say or do anything in protest, Gabriel once again fixed her with an almost stern glare, his voice low, but nonetheless carrying significant weight as he brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek before he spoke.

"I trust I don't have to worry about you making any more attempts at insulting my friends, tonight?"

"No," Fiona assured, once again hating how her voice had gone weak in the wake of the apparent force behind her boyfriend's intonation, though she did her best to avoid such an emotion from making itself known in her expression, "I won't."

"Good," Gabriel said, once again dropping his head down so that his lips could hover over Fiona's once more, his hand that had been clutching her arm dropping down to thread their fingers together before he turned, and began to lead them towards the stairs. It would have been a lie to pretend that Fiona was not abundantly aware of what he might be persuaded to do, should she fail to uphold her promise, whether or not Michael, Uriel, or anyone else provoked her, first. But regardless of that apprehension, she forced herself to continue along at his side, hoping beyond hope that the movie, such as it was, would be enough to distract everyone from paying her any mind at all until it ended, and it was time to go home.

She didn't know how much more of this she could take, if it did not.

…

"Wow, Fi. You look like crap."

"Gee, thanks, Simon," Fiona acknowledged, lifting a brow as she shut the door to their home in the countryside behind her, and toeing off her shoes before stepping any further into the foyer, "I love you, too."

"Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it," Simon explained, stepping forward to pull Fiona into a welcoming embrace, only to find that she seemed to flinch just a bit in anticipation of the contact, instead of accepting it as is, "What's wrong?"

"I—what?" Fiona questioned, ducking her head and finally accepting the weight of Simon's arms around her, while her own moved to encircle his waist, "Nothing's wrong."

"You flinched."

"No, I—I didn't."

"You did," Simon insisted, pulling back just enough to grant himself a clearer view of Fiona's expression, and frowning as he almost immediately realized she was rather pointedly avoiding meeting his gaze head-on, "Did something happen at the party?"

"No."

"You're certain?"

"I—yes."

"Right. Very convincing."

"It's the truth," Fiona pressed, forcing herself to look Simon in the eye, despite the spasm of uncertainty she felt over her own ability to keep her emotions in check. She knew precisely how he would react, if he learned even a bit of the truth concerning everything that had happened at the party she had been forced to attend at Gabriel's behest. And although she would have been a fool to pretend that she did not appreciate the sentiment behind what would only be Simon's attempt at protecting her from anything and everything he could, Fiona was loathe to pit him against Gabriel, regardless, her teeth chewing at her lower lip for a moment before she summoned the wherewithal to go on, "Nothing happened, Si."

"Do I need to get Zee out here to see if your story changes?"

"No. Why would—why would you do that, anyway?"

"Because, Fi, I know that even if you would lie to my face, you would never, ever be capable of doing the same to him."

"I'm not lying."

"Keep telling yourself that," Simon quipped, shifting until only a single arm remained looped about Fiona's shoulders so that he could take the liberty of leading her out of the foyer, and towards the kitchen, instead, "You eat yet?"

"Not really, no."

"Good. I've been looking forward to you trying the fettucine I've been working on since you left."

"And will—will Zee be joining us?" Fiona inquired, peeking up to observe Simon's reaction to her question, and finding that even in the face of his assertation that she would never be capable of keeping the truth hidden if their guardian were around, she was only genuinely grateful to see her foster brother's answering nod of confirmation that they would not be dining alone.

"He will. After all, it was his idea to make the stuff, in the first place…"

Whether Fiona enjoyed the prospect of eventually having to come clean about what had happened at Michael's party, she would have been a liar to pretend that time alone with her family was not precisely what she had wanted, all along.

…


End file.
